


Break the Night

by IdleMinders



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleMinders/pseuds/IdleMinders
Summary: A stakeout changes Carlton's life forever when the dog that attacks him in the park turns out not to be a dog at all.  When a fairly routine string of break-ins introduces Carlton to Santa Barbara's supernatural underbelly, things will never be the same. Not with his partner, and certainly not with Shawn Spencer.--An alternate summary: Shawn has a giant crush, Lassie is oblivious, and there are totally werewolves. The sternum bush is about to get a little bit more majestic.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back again! I just really, really wanted to write a werewolf!Lassiter.
> 
> I'm borrowing a lot of werewolf mythology from Teen Wolf, just because I like their style of werewolves, but it doesn't share the same 'verse and you do not have to have seen the show. I may add the tags as the fic continues, but I will always warn in the author's notes of the relevant chapter.

The coffee shoved into his face was just as alarming to Carlton as any gun. The cup was bright green and covered in smiley faces and doodles. Half of them were done in a different marker from the quickly scrawled “Carly” wrapping around the side. And if the cup itself wasn’t suspicious enough, the hand shoving it in his face was. It was attached to a wriggling arm, making the cup wobble in front of him. And the arm was attached to a person even more baffling than the neon monstrosity an inch from his face.

“Got you some coffee, Lassie!” Spencer crowed. “Exactly as you like, from the new place near the psych office. It’s like Lisa Frank exploded in there, but their drinks are worth going blind over.” Carlton grabbed the cup before Spencer could do something stupid, like dropping it in his lap or squeezing it too tightly and making it explode everywhere. He peeked in the lid, checking the color, but he already knew that Spencer had his coffee order memorized, if only to embarrass him in front of someone who didn’t know his preferences.

“Uh, no Shawn, I paid for that. Technically, it’s mine,” Guster said, automatically reaching for the cup before freezing inches away as Carlton glared. “But … you can have that one. I always take my coffee with a bit of flavor, anyway.”

“Amaretto is not a flavor, Gus. It’s a sign of defeat,” Spencer replied, wheeling around to huff at his friend before taking a long drag of what appeared to be a smoothie.

“Just because you can’t handle any flavor more sophisticated than ‘funfetti’ doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some!” Guster shot back. Carlton finally took a sip of the coffee—still hot—and turned away to head back to his desk, completely ignoring the two as they began to squabble. Juliet already had what looked like iced coffee in some bright purple cup with some kind of rainbow on the side, ignoring the sideshow. Carlton approved.

He wasn’t even sure why they were at the station in the first place. They didn’t have any urgent cases. Certainly nothing that would attract Spencer’s interest. The little faker only wanted the flashy cases anyway, things that could gain him a paycheck and a lot of attention. Carlton wasn’t even sure if Spencer cared it was in that order. He sat down as the two seemed to be flicking each other on the forehead, all while yelping in pain, and opened the file on his newest case.

It was fairly straight-forward. Cars and houses were getting broken into all over town, cash and personal paperwork stolen. Carlton was fairly sure they were looking at an identity theft ring, who took cash if they stumbled upon it but didn’t want to take valuables that they’d have to deal with fencing. Nothing fenced meant they had no way to try leads through pawn shops, and they were stealing from regular people. They didn’t know the serial numbers on their cash, so the burglars could just use what they stole. And identity theft would be next to impossible until the information was used in ways that started pinging on the victim’s records—and by then, the information no doubt would have changed hands dozens of times. But the one detail that was actually interesting—the detail he didn’t want Spencer to know—was that several of the homeowners had been at home when the thefts happened. Not just asleep—one man swore up and down he had been moving around his house all day, and never heard or saw so much as a peep before he discovered his safe wide open. Carlton spread crime scene photos out on his desk, organized by crime scene, trying to get a sense of the bigger picture.

“What you got there, Lassie?” Spencer bounded over, his eyes falling to Carlton’s desktop, eyes, sliding across it for a split second before looking up again. Carlton took the opportunity to pointedly drop some folders across his desk, covering the photos up before Spencer had a chance to take a good look. “Making a scrapbook? A collage? A coffee table book of 1,001 crime scenes that could have been improved with a psychic?”

“It’s a case, Spencer. One that would definitely not be improved with a psychic,” Carlton said. “Though if you want to hang around getting everyone coffee, it would definitely be an improvement on what you usually get up to.”

“Except you haven’t consulted with us for a while. And you don’t want to risk such a vibrant resource as myself—”

“And me,” Guster added, popping up beside Shawn and dear god, Carlton didn’t know how they did that.

“Myself and Gus,” Shawn allowed, though he flapped a hand at his friend and nearly slapped aside Guster’s coffee. “You don’t want to risk us going away because we had to close the agency due to lack of funds, do you?”

“I break out in hives just thinking of all the taxpayer money that is wasted on your consulting fees,” Carlton replied. He probably should have kept his answer short, because Shawn’s head quirked at the insult, looking amused.

“Are you upset that consultants get paid more hourly than detectives, Lassie? Because, look, if _you’re_ a little short on cash we’re always trying to hire an assistant—”

“No, Shawn. We’ve had three assistants so far, and we’ve fired all of them within the week because we can’t pay them,” Guster said. “Stop spending my money and hiring everyone as assistant.”

“I don’t hire everyone as an assistant!” Spencer protested. 

“No, just people you’re trying to hit on,” Guster replied before Spencer went ramrod straight, actually hissing at Guster outright, this time flapping his hands directly in his face. Guster slapped his hands away and then the two were doing their weird little jostling dance and Carlton felt his momentary confusion quickly veer right back into annoyance.

“Okay, children,” Carlton said, standing up to grab both of them from the back of their necks and drag them out of the bullpen. “Since this is not, in fact, a playground, I am not going to be babysitting the two of you when I have real work to be doing.”

“Does that mean you’ll only babysit us off the clock?” Spencer asked, and Carlton grit his teeth. “Because Gus _does_ get fussy if he doesn’t take his naps, and if you can manage that for fifteen dollars plus the frozen pizza in the freezer—”

“Enough!” Carlton barked, shoving them towards the front door. “If the Chief decides you’re needed, she’ll give you a call. Until then, stay. Away.” He gave them a firm glare before turning on his heel and stalking away, but not before Shawn let out an indignant huff behind him.

“I brought you coffee, man!” he whined as Carlton rounded the corner and returned to his desk. It was pretty good coffee, even if Carlton was never going to be caught dead walking into a place that put _stickers_ on their cups.

Juliet was waiting for him at his desk, a new report in her hand. “None of the prints we found matched anything in our system. But I sent McNab to do a canvas of the neighborhood, and he did get some witness statements that might indicate they’re escaping into the nearby park. If we put stakeouts at all the entrances and exits, we might catch something tonight.”

Carlton read it over, rolling his eyes at some of the other details McNab included, like every word a Ms. Delanoe included about her ‘jezebel neighbor’ and how the man across the street was purposely having his dog poop in her yard. “Get Vick to sign off on the extra manpower,” Carlton said, snapping the folder shut.

Juliet smiled. “Already done. I know you never say no to a stakeout,” she added when Carlton opened his mouth because really, why weren’t people waiting for his approval anymore?

It probably had something to do with Spencer. Carlton knew he had to be a bad influence on his partner.

“Fine,” Carlton said, because it actually wasn’t a bad idea, and Juliet _was_ growing into a better detective. “Be back here at nine PM _sharp_ ,” he warned before he sat down, taking the folders off his desk so he could get a good look at the photos.

Tonight, at least, would be a blissfully psychic-free night.

* * *

Carlton only bothered to stop at his apartment to change and give himself a quick shave. An all night stakeout meant his stubble would otherwise be showing by morning, and he had a firm belief in an officer being clean shaven. There were no messages on his machine—hardly unusual for him. A quick exploration of his fridge unearthed only some takeout that had gone bad, and some left over roast that had gone _very_ bad. And … for some reason, some freshly cut pineapple, which was probably related to the knife covered in peanut butter left in the sink.

“Damn it, Spencer,” he muttered, but he grabbed the pineapple anyway for lack of something better. He left the television on the background while he settled to go over his bills, making sure all of his payments were made for the month. He knew he was luckier than most divorced men—when Victoria left, she didn’t request any alimony and they both made sure their assets were divided fairly. Which, considering her father would have driven him into the ground, was proof of how ambivalent they had both felt once Carlton had come to terms with their divorce. She’d kept the house, but he didn’t really mind that. Too many memories.

But now the apartment was still full of its own bad memories. Carlton had to replace his couch and rearrange his living room after the Drimmer affair. He could still see Spencer on his couch, reeling with pain. It wasn’t rare to see Spencer making exaggerated faces, wincing at the smallest tap, playing every reaction up. But the stillness Spencer had that night, the wariness in his movements. How powerless Carlton felt when Drimmer cracked the gun across Spencer’s skull … it could have gone badly so easily. It was a miracle Spencer came out of it with only a concussion.

The alarm on his phone had Carlton grabbing his gear, looping his badge around his neck. The full moon left the street extra bright—perfect conditions for a stakeout. At the station Carlton swept an eye over the street to make sure there wasn’t a familiar flash of blue, half-expecting Spencer and Guster to try and crash his briefing. Luckily, it was blissfully free of any annoying interruptions, and Juliet had even picked up coffee for the both of them before they headed out.

Carlton didn’t fully settle in until all the cars had radioed in to confirm their positions, keeping his eyes peeled as the clock rolled around to 10 PM. None of the burglaries were committed before 11, but there was always the chance the burglars also entered the neighborhood through the park instead of only escaping through it.

“You know, I think Shawn has been hanging around the station more often than usual,” Juliet said after they’d been sitting in silence for a good twenty minutes. “And not just when Gus is with him and they’re fishing for cases. He’s been bringing everyone coffee, checking in more. I think the Yang case really affected him.”

Carlton _had_ noticed seeing Spencer around more often, as a matter of fact, but he figured it was just because Spencer was going out of his way to be annoying. Spencer’s attitude certainly hadn’t changed after the case. “It was a rough night for him,” Carlton finally said after it became clear in the silence that Juliet expected an answer. “Seeing things get personal. You and I both know he’s been treating our cases like a game.”

“He solves them, in the end,” Juliet pointed out. And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Carlton could work hard on every case he got, and it wouldn’t stop Spencer from swanning in, making an ass of himself and everyone around him. And at the end of the day, he’d still solve the crime, the same little grin on his face. Half the time he’d wink at Carlton and Carlton … didn’t know what to do with that.

So he ignored it, like he tried to ignore most of the crap Spencer pulled around him.

“Perspective is still good for him. At the end of the day, he’s a civilian, albeit an occasionally useful one,” Carlton replied, taking a long drink from his lukewarm coffee. He’d have to finish it soon if he didn’t want it to go completely cold. “He doesn’t have our training, and we weren’t even ready to take on Yang.”

No one wanted to take on Yang. Of all the distinctions a detective could get at the SBPD, getting chosen by Yang for a battle of wits was the one thing Carlton had never been envious of.

“You’ve always had a problem with Shawn,” Juliet continued, seemingly determined now Carlton couldn’t just walk away from the conversation. “And I know you don’t believe in his abilities—”

“He’s not psychic, O’Hara,” Carlton said, jamming his cup back into the cupholder with more force than necessary. “You wanna drink that Kool Aid, that’s on you. I don’t know if he’s really just a criminal mastermind after all or if he just sneaks around and listens to everyone’s conversations. But I do know what he doesn’t do. There are no visions, no him talking to animals or dead people. He’s just a jackass who dances around and drags his best friend with him like a security blanket.” 

Juliet’s glare burned on the side of his face, and Carlton absolutely refused to turn and meet her gaze. “What I was _going_ to ask,” she said after she didn’t get any further reaction, “Was if you noticed that he respects you. And then I was going to point out that it wouldn’t kill you to give him a little respect too.”

“Respects me?” Carlton repeated. “ _Respects_ me? He mocks me constantly, he takes absolutely nothing seriously—”

“He teases everyone!” Juliet insisted. “Me, the chief, everyone. I mean, Gus is his best friend, and look at how they act together.” 

“Which just means prolonged exposure to Spencer drives people crazy. Henry Spencer is exhibit B.” Juliet crossed her arms, and Carlton knew by experience it meant she was just getting started. But the radio crackled and Carlton had never been so glad to get an update in his life.

_“We have two figures going into the park from the south entrance. They noticed one of our foot patrols and ran to avoid it, we believe their heading north-”_

“Watch the entrance,” Carlton said, leaping out of the car before Juliet could argue, hand on his holster as he quickly strode into the park. It was empty at this time of night, and Carlton moved deeper, heading south, trying to stick to the shadows as he kept his eyes peeled. The noises of the city faded as he headed deeper inside, until all he really heard was the sound of his own breathing. And … footsteps. Carlton darted behind a tree, waiting until the perfect moment to creep out, gun up and aim steady.

“Freeze!” he shouted, blood beginning to pump with familiar adrenaline. “Hands in the air! Turn around _slowly_.”

Both figures jumped a mile in the air, yelping, clutching each other and — _for the love of God_.

“Lassie!” Spencer shouted, somehow managing to sound deeply insulted and exasperated at the same time. “What are you doing? It is a cold and dangerous night, you are going to give poor Gus a heart attack.”

“I can’t feel my limbs. Are my hands even up right now?” Guster gasped, his elbows around his ears.

“What? Yes. C’mon, Gus, it’s just Lassie. Although why he’s choosing to jump out of nowhere like every horror movie ever I couldn’t tell you.” Spencer lowered his hands and looked at Carlton expectantly, like he was being the ridiculous one.

“What are you two doing out here? You are interrupting my stakeout,” Carlton hissed, holstering his gun.

“Your stakeout?” Spencer repeated, surprise flitting across his face before he grinned. “I had a vision, Lassie. All the victims had this park in common, and I saw dark figures stalking through it, so we came down to have a look. And look, you got here too!”

“A vision,” Carlton repeated before rolling his eyes. “Right. I don’t care if the tooth fairy whispered it into your ears herself, you are going to go out the south entrance and wait with O’Hara.”

“What? Seriously?” Spencer sputtered. “Lassie, we’re working on our lead!”

“My lead,” Carlton corrected. “And you can wait until the real cops are done before you mess everything up. South entrance. Now. Or I arrest you for interfering in my investigation. Understand?”

Spencer looked him over before pouting—honest to god pouting, like he wasn’t a grown man. But Carlton wouldn’t budge, and with an over-exaggerated sigh Spencer turned around and started dragging his feet down the path, Guster practically running after him to keep up.

“Should have kept the fifteen dollars for babysitting them,” Carlton muttered once they were out of sight. His radio was silent, none of the officers giving an update. Carlton took two steps towards the south path before he suddenly froze, the back of his neck prickling. Something was watching him. He slowly began to rotate, eyes squinting into the dark.

To the right of him, two figures stood down a path. One was far smaller than a person, though—a dog, Carlton realized. A big one. Carlton slowly raised his weapon, only managing one step towards them before the dog was rushing him, flying across the distance between them. Carlton swore and fired a shot, then two, then three. The dog didn’t even slow, even when Carlton had emptied his entire clip into the thing. He saw a flash of red and then it was crashing into him, pain lancing up his arm. A snarl seemed to echo in his head, his sleeve ripping as teeth sliced into it. Carlton rolled in the dirt with it, his other hand slamming against the things massive head, until it let go. Carlton scrambled back, cradling his arm to his chest as he finally got a good look at the dog. It was enormous, towering over him, some kind of wolf hybrid.

Red eyes flashed again and Carlton felt transfixed, staring into them until he heard yelling in the distance. Carlton turned his head, realizing his radio had been knocked to the grass, smashed into pieces. When he looked back, it was only in time to see the tail of the dog slipping between the trees before disappearing completely.

“Carlton!” Juliet’s voice cut through the trees, flash lights reflecting in front of him. It took a few breaths, but he was finally able to shout out an answer, and soon Juliet was crouching beside him, trying to see if he was hurt.

“I saw a man, he sicced his dog on me,” Carlton grunted. “It’s huge, but I’m fine. Just a little—banged up.”

“Suspect has an attack dog,” Juliet immediately said into her radio. “I need an ambulance at the north entrance.”

“No ambulance, I’m fine,” Carlton assured her, struggling to his feet. “It just knocked me down, I don’t think it really bit me, there’s not much blood.”

Spencer rounded the corner beside Juliet, Guster close behind. “Did you say a huge dog bit you?” Spencer demanded, sounding out of breath—way more than he should, even if he ran all the way there. “On a full moon? Damn Lassie, you’re going to end up a werewolf!”

“Werewolves aren’t real,” Guster and Carlton said at the same time. Carlton was impressed for a split second before Guster continued to speak. “And if it was a werewolf bite, he’d be all hairy and fighting us by now.”

“Well that really depends on the class of werewolf we’re dealing with, doesn’t it?” Shawn replied. “Some of them need time to get going, it’s like an infection.”

“A regular infection would be more likely,” Gus replied. “But only because of the bacteria dogs have in their teeth.”

“Hey, you two,” Juliet said, snapping her fingers to get them to shut up. “Make yourselves useful and help Carlton back to the car while I finish the sweep of the park.”

“Did you not just hear me say I was fine?” Carlton demanded. “I can finish the sweep.”  
  
Juliet gave Carlton a hard look before shaking her head. “Shawn?” she asked before practically pushing Carlton towards Spencer. “Get him to the car, okay?”

“O’Hara!” Carlton called after her, but she was already heading down the path, the flashlights of some of the officers already visible in the distance.

“Come on, Lassie,” Spencer said before snickering. “Come on home.”

“Spencer, I will get more bullets for my gun and I will shoot you,” Lassiter warned. But neither Guster nor Spencer seemed worried, only beginning to lead him back to the north entrance and resuming their werewolf debate.

Carlton glanced over his shoulder, half expecting twin pin pricks of red to be watching him from the tree line. He didn’t see anything, but unease had begun to prickle at his throat.

“Seriously, man. Are you okay?” Spencer asked, pausing right by the entrance. “You look a little … peaky.”

“Peaky?” Carlton shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“But—” Spencer started, and Carlton held up his good hand.

“Spencer. I’m _fine._ ”

Carlton still took one last glance back at the park, though. Something was bothering him, and he couldn’t quite figure out what. Or, at least, figure out a way to solve it. Because as he left the park, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling of flat-out dread that he had lost something too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary says Shawn has a giant crush. This should be updated to Shawn having an _obvious_ giant crush. Lassie remains oblivious.

It was a bad day.

There was no point in trying to dress it up as anything else. Carlton had woken up with a splitting headache, the kind that throbbed behind his eyes and would have had him running for the bathroom if he thought moving was a possibility. He thought he had gotten off lucky—the paramedics confirmed he had no bite marks, and that he was fine. Carlton could have sworn he’d gotten a scrape or two during his scrabble with the dog, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on him.

Carlton had flung an arm across his eyes, taking deep breaths until the pounding faded enough for him to grope blindly around his night stand until he found some pain killers. He didn’t even bother to get up for water—just swallowed them dry and flopped back, taking deep breaths until the world settled enough that he could open his eyes.

Carlton had slowly sat up, looking around his room suspiciously. It looked exactly the same, but it was … brighter, somehow. The colors were more vibrant, and he’d smelled the detergent on his sheets just as clearly as the sweet rot of the apple core in his trash can. At the time he’d frowned, beginning to wonder if he had just let the trash sit too long, before the neon green numbers on his alarm clock had him lurching out of bed and straight into the bathroom.

Things had not improved from there. He’d somehow managed to loosen his closet door from its hinges, break one of his coffee mugs by putting it down too hard on the counter, and cruised right into the trash cans at the end of his driveway when he tried to back his car out. And his headache was turning into a full-on migraine that made him squint as every light seemed too bright and every car honk had him reeling. It was enough to send him into simmering rage by the time he got to the police station.

But Carlton hadn’t been dealing with Shawn Spencer for this long to not know how to take a deep breath, focus on happy thoughts, and let the rage flow through him until it was just a little background murmur.

Of course, having dealt with Spencer for this long also meant he should have seen something like this coming.

Carlton came to a sharp halt the moment he caught sight of his desk. It was surrounded by a dozen _Get Well_ balloons (and, inexplicably, a single _It’s a Boy!_ ), and on his desk was a teddy bear with a bandage wrapped around its head and a miniature version of his badge around its neck.

“Lassie!” Shawn’s voice came from the direction of Juliet’s desk. A few coughs echoed around the office, everyone trying and failing to suppress their amusement at Carlton’s expense. “Jules said you were coming in instead of taking the day off. It’s very noble, soldiering on in light of your injury. So we—”

“There is no we, Shawn. I’m only here because you needed a ride and I needed to go to the grocery store anyway,” Gus cut in, rolling his eyes at Shawn.

“I could have gotten a cab, Gus. And anyway, I was _including_ you so you could get some of the credit—”

“I am not going to inflict you on a cab driver Shawn, they don’t get paid enough. And this is not about sharing credit, this is about you wanting to diffuse blame—”

“What’s Lassie gonna blame us for, huh? Being _too_ thoughtful?” Shawn reached down, picking up the teddy bear and shoving it into Carlton’s hands. Carlton just … stared. “Lassie got jumped by an attack dog! It’s not like we could just give him a cake that had ‘Sorry you got mauled’ written on it!” Shawn paused, squinting at Carlton. “Would you have … preferred the cake? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Deep breaths. Really, it was all about deep breaths. “Spencer,” he started, voice low. “Why does my desk look like a children’s party?”

“Um, what kind of weird parties did you go to as a kid?” Shawn replied. “It’s for you, Lassie! Balloons are proven to make people feel better. And make grumpy people happier. That’s the whole moral of _Up!_ ”

Gus sighed loudly. “That is not the moral of _Up_ , Shawn.”

“Well, I’m not going to recommend he kidnap a boy scout and abscond to South America to avoid an assault charge—”

“That is the worst summary of _Up_ I’ve ever heard! This is why I always have to do the nutshelling—”

Carlton grabbed a pen off of his desk and stabbed the nearest balloon. Probably not the best impulse, as every cop in the station went for their holsters at the loud bang, but it got the wonder twins to shut up.

“Aw Lassie, come on. That balloon was like two dollars,” Spencer whined, looking like Carlton had just kicked every puppy in a two-block radius.

Not that Carlton _would_ , but the urge to kick something was certainly rising. “As you can see Spencer, I am fine. You might recall the EMTs confirmed I didn’t have so much as a scrape from that dog’s teeth.”

“About that,” Shawn said, and Carlton groaned. That was Spencer’s wildly-inaccurate-crack-theory voice. Granted, those theories were right about seventy percent of the time, so Carlton just had to brace himself for that remaining thirty percent. “Don’t you think it’s weird you had blood on your sleeve but no bite?”

“We’re running tests on the blood to determine if it was mine or the dog’s,” Carlton finally admitted. The thought had occurred to him—though he was banking on the idea that the dog already had blood on its mouth. “But the dog plowed into me, and it was pretty rough and tumble there for a few minutes. It could have been from a bad nosebleed.”

“But you didn’t get a nosebleed last night. You were covered in dirt and twigs, sure, but your nostrils were clean. Well, clean as they ever are, have you been using the nose hair trimmer you got in this year’s secret santa?”

Ah, yes. There was that nice familiar rising of rage. “Spencer,” Lassiter said, giving him a wide smile, keeping his voice carefully even as he dropped the teddy bear back on his desk. “May I see you for a moment?” He didn’t give Spencer a chance to say anything else before grabbing his arm, dragging him down the hallway and stairs towards the interrogation rooms.

“Damn Lassie, I was just joking,” Spencer said, though he didn’t seem to actually be putting any effort into pulling away. “And I am actually worried about the dog bite. Stuff like that can be serious.”

“But I don’t have a dog bite. What I have is an annoyance who won’t leave my station alone,” Carlton replied, finally letting Spencer go when they got to the bottom of the stairs. “And I’ll remind you that it was O’Hara that called the EMT. I was just fine taking care of it myself.”

“I’m just saying, _something_ weird was going on last night,” Shawn insisted. “I mean, Gus and I didn’t see any people or dogs or any non-Lassie-related people while we were in the woods. And we’re gone two seconds and you get attacked? That doesn’t add up!”

Carlton frowned, trying to pinpoint exactly what detail about the night before was troubling Spencer. “Are you saying you’re mad the dog didn’t attack you?”

“Come on Lassie, don’t be the vending machine that only dispenses Rollos and Whatchamacallits,” Shawn drawled. “I’m saying that something weird was going on last night. Why did they decide to bring Balto with them? I know you don’t think we should say ‘werewolf’ just yet, but it would explain a few things!”

Carlton felt a growl bubble up—perhaps one that was a bit more guttural than his usual ones, but he didn’t try to swallow it down. He took a few familiar steps forward until he was crowding Spencer against the wall. Spencer, in Carlton’s experience, usually had two reactions: he’d either pretend to be hurt—dramatically throwing his head to the side and gasping like a wounded Civil War debutant—or he’d go still. Almost still, except Carlton would always feel the barest brush of Spencer’s body rising to meet his own.

This time was no different—except that it _was_. This time, Carlton could catalog every detail of Spencer’s reaction—the way his pupils dilated, the minute crease of his eyebrows. The way his heart started beating faster, a warm, fascinating rhythm that echoed in Carlton’s head. The warm spice of whatever body spray he’d clearly doused himself, somehow growing richer by the second.

“We’re not going to say werewolves at all,” Carlton said lowly. Spencer’s head gave the barest twitch, eyes blinking like he’d forgotten something. “Because there is no such thing as werewolves. This is a regular, mundane case, and I do _not_ need you mocking my police work so you and Gus can play fairy land for a few days.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Spencer said, and sighed when Carlton’s eyebrows immediately jumped up. “Well, I mean, not right now. And not today. Is it really so weird to get a few balloons?”

“You were behind all the Christmas snow globes,” Carlton pointed out. Spencer’s heartbeat sped up for a few beats before he laughed.

“Your expression when you’re that creeped out is amazing,” Spencer said. “What can I say?”

“How’s my expression right now?” Carlton asked. Spencer’s eyes locked with his, then dropped down to Carlton’s lips for a split second before the barest hint of a flush crept across Spencer’s cheeks and his gaze shot right back up.

“I don’t want you on this case,” Carlton continued before Spencer could blurt out something idiotic. “No private investigating, no interference. You might have an uncanny knack for duping people into being friends with you, but criminals with attack dogs are notoriously unfriendly. I’m not going to make that call to your father if you stick your nose in things and get mauled. I only got lucky last night, and I actually have training on dealing with attack dogs.”

“Wait, are you worried about me?” Shawn asked. Incredulity dripped from every word, but his face lit up. “Because Gus and I have that planned out. See, we got a really long thing of sausages, and —”

Carlton slapped a hand over Spencer’s mouth before he could continue harping on about whatever harebrained scheme he and Guster came up with. “Stay out of my case,” he repeated. Underneath his hand, he could see the corner of Spencer’s eyes crinkle, feel the curve of his lips as the man grinned. And then, he felt something warm and wet wriggling against his palm.

“Spencer!” Carlton snatched it back like he’d been burnt, staring at the now-shiny spit coating his palm before he wiped it on his pants. “Did you just lick my hand?”

“It’s a very effective method,” Shawn replied. “It was first employed thousands of years ago in China—”

“I don’t have time for this,” Carlton muttered, stepping back from Spencer. The sudden lack of body heat and burst of cool air hit Carlton like a wall, but he refused to let it show. “And for the love of god, Spencer. You’re not some acne-riddled teenage punk. Stop wearing enough body spray to drown a horse.”

“Stop—what?” Spencer asked, and he was staring at Carlton, that furrow between his eyebrows back again, his heartbeat skipping again. “I’m not wearing any.”

“Oh, right,” Carlton replied with a roll of his eyes. “You just happen to reek like you’ve bathed in a cologne counter. We have people with allergies working in this precinct, you know. Cut back or I will have a medical reason to have you banned.”

Carlton walked away, intent on heading to the firing range to blow off some steam and clear his head. He the rounded the corner, barely catching a glimpse of Spencer frowning and plucking at his collar so he could pull his shirt to his nose and take a sniff. Then there was the sound of footsteps jogging back up the stairs and Spencer yelling, “Hey, Buzz! Come smell me!” followed by an immediate, “Oh, okay, sure Shawn!” in response.

That almost got a chuckle out of Carlton before a sudden thought had him freezing in his tracks.

How the _hell_ had Carlton heard Spencer’s heartbeat?

* * *

By the time Carlton made it back to his desk, Chief Vick had kicked Spencer and Guster out of the station herself. He shoved all the balloons into the back corner, planning to bring any still floating to the gun range after he solved the case, and turned his attention back to the case files in front of him.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Spencer had a point. The dog was weird. Who brought an attack dog to a robbery? No one at any of the crime scenes—victims or neighbors—reported hearing a dog barking, or even mentioned a dog. Except—no, that wasn’t quite right. Carlton dug through the files, finding notes from the interviews Buzz had done.

Specifically, the interview with the second victim’s neighbor. Pauline Delanoe, the one who ranted to Buzz about the woman who loved on one side of her and the man with a vicious dog across the street. The one who always pooped in her yard.

Carlton—perhaps a bit guiltily—didn’t stop to check in with Juliet before he strode out of the station. But a leap like this—chasing a lead _this_ flimsy—was something Spencer would do. And Carlton would be damned that Spencer ever found out he’d taken a second look at the dog unless it proved to be the break in the case they needed. At least this way, when the lead did crash and burn, no one would be any the wiser.

Something pulled in Carlton’s gut the closer he got to the address. He believed in a cop’s gut, and had trusted his own often enough. But it had never felt like this before. Carlton could have sworn he felt an actual force pulling him in, an almost physical hand at his back. It only got stronger the closer he got, a white static building at the back of his head.

 _What in the hell…?_ Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe the dog had rabies, or something, though Carlton hadn’t seen any foam, or the flashing of the whites of the dog’s eyes. He had just seen that impossible burning ember of red.

Carlton pulled up on the street opposite Pauline Delanoe’s house, just to watch. The old lady didn’t appear to be home, though he suspected the second victim was, judging by the car in the driveway. He also spotted at least two kid’s bikes pulled up against the garage, and a mountain of toys scattering the yard. The van in the driveway had a disgustingly cutesy decal, a white line drawing of a smiling man and woman followed by five smaller figures and a dog, looking like some kind of parade. Figures, Carlton snorted. All the houses they’d been seeing lately had had kids, the same sort of—

Carlton sat up a bit straighter. All the victims had had large families mostly comprised of young children, though there had been a few with older ones sent off to college or already working. But children were particularly vulnerable to identity theft, as their information often went largely unused until after they turned eighteen. He’d seen plenty of cases where scumbag parents took out credit cards and other lines of credit with their kids’ info and got away with it for years. But to be targeted for that reason …

A man came down the street with a bouncing Dalmatian at his side. When he saw the lack of car in Delanoe’s driveway the man made a beeline for her yard, pointing his dog to it and whistling as it wandered to the end of its leash before squatting and doing its business. The second the dog was done, the guy called it back to his side, patted its head, and innocently made his way across the street in front of Carlton and into his house.

Well, Carlton figured. At least the old biddy had been right about something. That guy was definitely having his dog poop in her yard on purpose.

A sudden knock on his back window had Carlton jerking, his eyes flying to the rearview window. A blonde woman—the kind of ridiculously beautiful woman featured in magazine spreads and music videos—gave him an amused smirk before—

Before—

Her eyes flashed yellow, a thin ring of red around her irises.

The answering yellow flash of Carlton’s eyes was somehow far more disconcerting, even as he watched himself do it. He stared at himself in his rearview mirror, leaning forward, his fingertips brushing the bags under his eyes as he tried to comprehend the yellow blaze staring back at him.

His car door opened beside him and Carlton’s hand automatically went for his gun, whirling around to face the woman smirking down at him.

“Calm down, puppy,” she cooed. “You’re going to learn that little pea shooter isn’t going to work on us.”

“Who the hell are you?” Carlton growled, releasing his seat belt and rising out of the car. He towered over her, but she didn’t look the least bit threatened. The white static in his head was screaming now, and he had the oddest urge to make himself _smaller_.

“You are an odd duck. Most of our puppies come looking for us and leave a trail of destruction behind them. They don’t investigate and go to work. Granted, they usually aren’t cops either,” the woman said before laughing. “You’ll be fun, I can already tell.”

“I’m the head detective of the SBPD, not some beat cop. Tell me your name,” Carlton snapped, grabbing his badge to shove it in her face. The door of the house next to Delanoe’s opened, a tall man standing behind it. He looked at the two of them in the street, raised his eyebrows, and let his eyes bleed a dark, burning red.

“Puppy,” the woman said, laughing a little as Carlton’s knees buckled. “I think you better come inside.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering what decal Lassie is referencing here, see stuff like the one [here](https://www.originalpeople.net/img/banner/1.webp).
> 
> My apologies to anyone who likes Rollos or Whatchamacallits.


End file.
